The Sorrow of Mulberry Manor
by starbrightnights
Summary: FitzSimmons Christmas fic: Days before Christmas, a snowstorm strands the team in Vermont. They manage to get to a nearby S.H.I.E.L.D. safe-house, but it's hiding a terrible secret. Is Jemma going mad? Or is there really something - or someone - else there with them? And why is she the only one affected by it? Ghosts, an unsolved tragedy, and, just maybe, a long overdue romance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: FitzSimmons Christmas fic! The best combination possible, right?**

**Warning: This story will include details about the death of a child (129 years before the story is set****). It won't be anything horrendously graphic, but I just wanted to mention it in advance in case it was triggering for anyone.**

**This is a ghost story, a tragic story, and a love story. It's also a Christmas story, so despite the subject matter, there will be merriment at some point. Just in case anyone is wondering why I've set this particular tale at Christmas - there is a reason.**

**Enjoy! :)**

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><p>Three days before Christmas, and a snowstorm had decided to rudely bluster its way in, grounding flights and causing havoc across the northeastern corner of the U.S., stranding the team in Vermont, all cold and miserable except for an optimistic Director Phil Coulson, who seemed to have a trick up his sleeve.<p>

No one wanted a road-trip in this weather, no matter how short the journey, but deciding to abandon the idea of staying on the Bus, and forgoing any of the quaint bed and breakfasts and pretty hotels ("_It's Christmas, it'll be like asking if there's room at the Inn, and I don't feel like sleeping out back in this weather_," Coulson had quipped, doing his best to convince them that it was fruitless to ask), they'd informed the others back at the Playground of their situation, made a quick stop in Chester before the snow got too bad, stocked up on supplies, and then the five of them had piled back into the car and set off, leaving the town behind and venturing a few miles west into the grey-white wash of countryside, until Coulson turned the car off of the increasingly treacherous highway and down a well-hidden track between the trees, Chris Rea floating out of the speakers as he crooned about driving home for Christmas.

Jemma stared glumly out at the purple-grey sky, watching the puffs of crystalline water-ice swirl in every direction as the wind whipped them about. Any other day she would have marvelled at the beauty of it, but she was tired, and upset that both she and Fitz wouldn't be able to get a flight home to spend the holidays with their families, the severe weather expected to last for several days, and he needed it much more than she did - his mother even more so. So, Chris Rea could bloody well bugger off.

"Hey, this place has internet access, right?" Skye asked, leaning forward from her place in the middle of the back seat and resting her hands on either side of the two in front of her.

Coulson turned his head slightly to reply, eyes still on the road. "It's a safe-house. It has an emergency telephone line, a TV, and a ton of surveillance equipment."

"So... No internet?"

"No internet."

Skye sat back and tilted her head to stare up at the roof of the car. "Yeah, that was a stupid question."

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but we'll make the best of it. Wait 'til you try my turkey."

"My mum makes the best Christmas dinners," Fitz sighed, glancing out the opposite window to Jemma.

"Guys, come on."

Jemma pressed the heel of her hand over her mouth, quelling the sudden urge to laugh. They were like sullen teenagers, sulking because mum and dad wouldn't let them have their way. Still, they were a family, of sorts. An odd one, but a family all the same. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"Woah."

Skye was leaning forward again, but this time she was staring out the windscreen at the beautiful, old colonial house that had appeared in front of them. Covered in snow, with a pretty porch and surrounded by coniferous trees, it was like a scene on a postcard, the kind of place Jemma had dreamed about spending Christmas in when she was a little girl, and had watched one too many festive period dramas.

"Yep. Welcome to Mulberry Manor."

The house, Coulson had earlier informed them, had been abandoned for years before S.H.I.E.L.D. had acquired it, and was one of the remaining few that Hydra hadn't found out about. It was so secret in fact, that only a select few members of the agency had ever known about it in the first place.

Zipping up her coat, Jemma climbed out of the car with the others, allowing herself a brief moment of joy after her earlier, private pity-party, as her feet hit the fresh snow, the ice crunching as she sank into it.

"See? I told you it would be better than a hotel," Coulson boasted, joining the others as they began to unload the back of the car.

May rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah. You'd just better pray the heat isn't off."

Coulson shrugged. "It has open fires - Fitz and I can chop some wood."

"Oh, what, because chopping wood is a "man's" job?" Skye challenged, her eyebrows raised and her gloved hands clamped to her hips.

Fitz screwed his face up and shook his head. "Yeah, no... I don't think choppin' wood is really my thing. Plus, you know, I'm still a bit... I'd probably end up cuttin' my hand off."

"Yeah, good point. Well, Skye, would you like to join me?"

Skye dropped her arms and puffed out her cheeks. "...Nope."

"May?"

May shoved a bag of groceries into Coulson's arms. "Fine. I can probably get it done quicker than you, anyway."

Coulson raised his eyebrows in a way that indicated that she was probably right, but welcomed the challenge anyway. "Want to bet on that?"

"Really? All right, fifty bucks says I can chop more wood than you in ten minutes."

"Guys, can we please just get inside? It's freezing." Skye stamped her feet to illustrate her point, her breath fogging around her.

Fitz threw his boss a sympathetic smile. "I hope you've got fifty dollars on you - I don't think she'll take a cheque."

Coulson frowned at him, seemingly not impressed with the engineer's lack of faith in his ability to skilfully wield an axe. "Thanks, Fitz."

"Hey, Simmons, are you gonna help?"

Jemma jumped, and turned to face Skye, who was holding a duffle bag out to her, with a frown. "Huh?"

Fitz smiled knowingly, although Jemma wasn't sure why, until he opened his mouth to speak. "She's just in awe - Jemma's dreamed of spendin' Christmas in a house like this since she was knee-high to a grasshopper."

Oh, yes, she _had_ told him that. But that wasn't it. Something had hit her, had burrowed inside and bloomed uninvited in her chest as soon as she'd pushed her door closed, a sense of foreboding, and a horrible, creeping feeling that shivered its way up her spine, leaving her off-balance, and a little breathless. Clearly, running around for two days in the cold had left her with the beginnings of a bug, which was all she needed right at this moment.

Jemma grabbed hold of the bag and nodded apologetically. "He's right, I have."

But the closer they got to the house, the worse she felt, the old building now appearing unfriendly rather than beautiful and inviting, and giving off a negative energy that she felt deep in the pit of her stomach. Stopping a couple of metres away from the porch, she suddenly glanced up at one of the windows, seeing nothing, but feeling a chill run through her that had nothing to do with the temperature. Confused, and more than a little unnerved, she lowered her head, blinking away the snowflakes that were clinging to her eyelashes as she tried to shake off the fear that was squeezing her in a vice-like grip. Her eyes watered as a wave of unbearable sadness crashed over her, and it was only when Fitz appeared in front of her, his hand squeezing her shoulder as he called her name, that she came back to herself, blinking harshly as she tried to focus on him.

"Hey... Jemma, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, as if it would rid her of the unexplained loss she felt. It didn't work. "Nothing... I'm fine." She tried to smile, but this was Fitz, and he wasn't buying it.

"You don't look well. Probably caught a chill. Come on, inside." He took the duffle from her with his free hand, the one on her shoulder guiding her up the steps of the porch and into the house. Her first instinct as she crossed the threshold was to run, but she pressed on, desperate to get warm.

xxxx

Despite the tinkering that S.H.I.E.L.D. had done to bring the house up to spec, it was, by all accounts, truly impressive, and the modifications hardly noticeable. Original fireplaces, a sweeping staircase, classical styling - a perfect balance of practical elegance, and yet Jemma was disturbed by how creepy she found it, her childhood dream rapidly turning into a nightmare, without any tangible reason, so she kept quiet, curled into an overstuffed wingback chair with a mug of the hot chocolate they'd bought at the store. She'd rather the others think she was ill than have to explain that she felt spooked - sure, they'd battled aliens, beings from other dimensions, but ghosts? No. When you died, your particles simply became a part of something else, and that was that. She and Fitz had discussed this, and that particular memory made her shudder for an entirely different reason.

Jemma shifted her position and pulled the throw Fitz had snatched from the back of the sofa tighter around her. It was a little dusty, but she couldn't care about that too much when she couldn't stop shivering, despite the fact that there was now a fire roaring away (Coulson had indeed had to hand over fifty dollars to May, much to his chagrin), and the radiators were burbling and clanging as they warmed up for the first time in goodness knew how long.

Sad. That was how it felt. The atmosphere was melancholic, and tinged with something distinctly unfriendly. Jemma wished she weren't sitting on her own, but May and Coulson were preparing dinner, and Fitz and Skye had gone off to explore the rest of the house, leaving her to rest up, feeling like a fraud, so she tried to content herself with listening to the distant chatter coming from the kitchen, and the footsteps creaking above her.

"Boo!"

Jemma jerked so hard that it was a miracle she didn't spill her drink, and sent a scolding look at the person who had just crept up on her. "Skye!"

Skye scrunched up her face apologetically, walking over to flop down on the sofa at the end nearest to her friend. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking." She reached an arm out towards her. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, a little," Jemma said, hiding behind her mug as she took another sip of her drink, sighing as the sweet, hot liquid slipped down her throat.

"Liar."

"Hey!" She frowned. "I'm much better at it than I was, I'll have you know."

Skye smiled sadly at her. "Yeah."

"What? Isn't that a good thing in our line of work?"

"Yeah, of course. But... I dunno. I kinda liked that you couldn't. Added to your British charm."

"... Thanks?"

"You know what I mean."

Jemma stretched out her legs, and breathed in deeply through her nose, attempting once again to calm her nerves. "Anyway, what's Fitz doing upstairs? Snagging the biggest room, I'll bet."

"Nah, he's in the kitchen, sitting at the table and annoying mom and dad... Simmons?"

Her blood ran cold. If Fitz was in the kitchen with the others, whose footsteps had she heard above her just before Skye had entered the room? A hand gently shaking her arm caught her attention and, dazed and clearly not doing a very good job of hiding her alarm, she quickly arranged her face into something more serene, a pointless attempt, considering. "I'm fine."

Skye huffed an empty laugh. "You're not. Look, why don't you go upstairs, beat Fitz to the biggest room and take a nap. I'll wake you for dinner."

Jemma shook her head. The last thing she wanted right now was to be upstairs by herself. "No, I'm all right - why don't we see what's on TV?"

"Yes! Good idea - maybe there's some cheesy Christmas movie on that we can watch!" Skye moved over to the television, switching it on at the wall and grabbing the remote. She aimed it at the screen... and nothing. Skye hit random buttons on the remote, then sighed in frustration before turning to face the doorway. "FITZ!"

The man in question popped his head around the doorway several seconds later, half of a gingerbread star in his hand, the rest in his mouth. "What?"

Skye rolled her eyes. "How do you eat like you do and not get fat?"

Fitz swallowed and then grinned. "Good genes. But, actually, I do exercise, you know. Sometimes. If you're going to be a scientist out in the field, you have to a bit."

"Even so, I'd have to work out for hours every day if I ate like you do."

"Hey! I can't help having a fast metabolism, and I'm not the only one with flaws, you know. We always know when you've been in the shower -" he raised a hand to tick off his fingers, "the fan isn't on, there are towels everywhere, you write notes in the steam on the mirror-"

"Those are nice things for people to read-"

"-Skye," Jemma interrupted, sweetly, focussing both of their attention on her. "Didn't you call Fitz in here for a reason?"

"Yeah, why _did_ you yell my name like an old fishwife?

"Like a _what_?"

Fitz rubbed a hand over his face. "Never mind - what did you want?"

Skye handed Fitz the remote. "TV's dead."

He didn't take the offered remote, instead glancing at the ancient, boxy set, and then back at her. "Plugged in?"

She tutted. "Yes. I'm not _that_ stupid- shut up," she warned, as the engineer went to open his mouth.

"Fine. Want to see some magic?"

"Show-off."

Jemma watched the exchange between them with some amusement, and also a tinge of jealousy. She missed bickering with him. Things were a lot better between them, now, but there was still something missing, still a feeling of dancing around each other. And then, at the last moment, she realised exactly what Fitz had meant by "magic".

He leant down, pushed his finger against a button on the set, then straightened as a little red light blinked on. He held a hand out towards Skye, gesturing to the remote. "Now try."

Skye pressed the 'on' button, and the light flashed a few times before the screen came to life. "Oh."

"Yeah. Seems they didn't feel the need to update the television. Mind you, I like these old sets - they're more fun to take apart. Surprised you didn't spot that, Simmons. Simmons?"

Jemma blinked at him. "Sorry, Fitz, what was that?"

Fitz eyed her for a moment, a slight frown marring his features before they relaxed, and he smiled softly at her. "Never mind. Warming up?"

"Yeah, a little."

He held his hand out for her now empty mug, and she handed it to him, returning the smile he gave her. "Thanks."

"Anytime".

A moment passed between them, and she almost forgot about how she was feeling as his eyes, brighter than they had been in some time, stared intently into hers, until Skye let out an excited yelp that snapped both her and Fitz out of it.

"Yes! I found 'Elf'! And we hardly have any channels, so, you know, huge result. I reckon this Christmas is actually gonna be pretty cool. Last year we were working, but this year... Well, I've never had a proper family Christmas, and I know you guys wanted to get home to your own families, but you're more-or-less mine, so..."

Jemma leant over the arm of her chair and squeezed Skye's arm. Despite not saying much about it, she knew Skye was still getting over meeting her father, was still coming to terms with everything he'd done, if one ever did come to terms with something like that. "You know we feel the same." Jemma moved from her chair to sit beside her friend on the sofa. She patted the spot next to her. "Fitz?"

He seemed to contemplate what she was asking for a moment, before placing the mug he was still holding onto the coffee table and then dropping down, sinking into the sofa and grabbing a cushion to hug to his chest. When he was younger, it had been to comfort him, to help soothe any anxieties he had, but now, most of the time, it was out of habit, and one that Jemma had always secretly found most endearing.

"All right, but no talk about how Buddy and I are hair twins - I've heard it all before."

Skye giggled. "Oh, man, this is gonna be great. Hanging with you guys, winding Fitz up-"

"-Hey!"

"-forgetting about work for a while, playing charades..."

"No, no way, anything but charades..."

"Fitz, this is my first proper family Christmas. You _have_ to."

"But _charades_?"

"It's just a shame we don't have any decorations," Skye continued, ignoring the look of consternation on his face. "Still, we'll make the best of it. Oh, and Fitz? If you hadn't mentioned the hair thing, I wouldn't have said anything, since you cut yours and all, but actually, you do kinda look like you could be Buddy's long lost little brother."

Jemma snorted, unable to help herself despite how uneasy she still felt.

Fitz scowled, and wrapped his arms tighter around his cushion, although Jemma could tell he wasn't quite as annoyed as he appeared to be, even as he grumbled, "I hate the both of you."

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><p><strong>AN: It was easier for me to write this without incorporating all of the newer characters, so they are back at the base, having worked on a part of the latest mission that, conveniently, didn't require them to all be in the same place. I do love them, I'm just not that good at writing for that many characters all at once.**

**Anyway - thoughts? *bribes you with gingerbread***


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma tried to concentrate on the film, she _really_ tried, but icy fingers continued to claw at her, all the way up the back of her neck, a terrifying tickle that made the hairs there stand on end, and every so often something would catch in the corner of her eye, and no matter how much she told herself that it was just her tired eyes playing tricks on her, that she didn't believe in the paranormal, that she was being _ridiculous_, she just couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched. Straying from the screen in front of her, her gaze settled on watching the flames dance in the fireplace as the wind whistled down the chimney. It was dark out, now, and strange shadows fell across the room, like a forest of nightmares, waiting to reach out with skeleton limbs and draw her into complete blackness...

It didn't even help, when, a short while later, Coulson and May entered the room with delicious smelling bowls of chicken stew. She held hers in her lap, letting it warm her, but every time she attempted to take a bite, it became almost impossible for her to swallow. Instead, she decided to try and focus on the conversation floating around her.

"Don't you think Buddy looks a little like Fitz?" Coulson said, as he licked his spoon and then tapped it against his lips in thought, although it was clearly being used to hide a smirk.

"Oh, for -" Fitz dropped his spoon into his bowl, the clanging reverberating sharply around the room. "And don't laugh, it's not funny!"

"It's hilarious."

"_May_. Traitor."

May shrugged, her lips quirked in the bare minimum of a smile, but amusement was dancing in her eyes.

No, no this wouldn't do. Jemma couldn't stand it anymore - trying to behave normally while she clearly felt anything _but_, was more effort than she could handle right now. The idea terrified her, but maybe going to bed would be the best thing - if she could get to sleep, she wouldn't have to feel like this, and once the sun rose on a new day, maybe she'd wake refreshed and relaxed, and would wonder what she'd been so worried about. Still, at the moment, she didn't dare go upstairs alone, and lingering awkwardness be damned - the only person she wanted to go up there with her was her oldest friend, because when she felt like this, it was far easier for her to have someone with her who'd known her for years, who knew some of her deepest, darkest secrets (not that she'd had many, until recently), than someone who, despite trusting them, despite all they'd been through, she'd known only moments in comparison.

"You know, I think I'm going to turn in for the night." She smiled apologetically at Coulson and May, feeling guilty for the mostly abandoned bowl of stew still sitting in her lap. "Sorry, I know I haven't anywhere near finished it, but dinner was lovely. I just think I need to sleep."

"Sure. Go take it easy." Coulson gave her a nod and a sympathetic smile, and she felt like the world's biggest phoney, especially considering what she was about to do next, because there was no way she was going to ask Fitz to come upstairs with her just because she was scared, but she couldn't exactly just ask him for no reason, either.

"Goodnight, everyone."

As they all returned the pleasantry, she put her plan into play, standing up on shaky legs. Fitz's arm automatically shot out behind the small of her back, not quite touching her, but there to steady her, just as she'd anticipated. A small stumble followed as she moved away from the sofa, and Fitz was up beside her in a flash, taking hold of her arm. Honestly, this little performance deserved an award, she was sure of it, because no one seemed to be doubting that she felt poorly in the slightest. Mind you, being frightened probably didn't make you look that much different, to be fair.

"Woah, steady. Okay?"

Jemma blinked and rubbed her free hand across her eyes, feigning disorientation. "Yes, I think so. Just a little dizzy, that's all."

Fitz's face told her everything she needed to know - she had him, hook, line, and sinker. And she felt terrible for it.

"Come on, I'll go up with you. Make sure you don't fall down the stairs."

As they entered the hall, Fitz stooped to pick up her bag, slinging it over his shoulder and making sure to stay right beside her as she clung to the bannister and used it to pull herself carefully up the staircase.

"I haven't seen you like this in years," Fitz said, watching her closely as they ascended. "You hardly ever get sick."

She smiled wanly at him. "It's not surprising, really, what with all this running around in the cold with little rest - one of us was bound to pick something up eventually. I just hope I don't give it to anyone else - maybe you should walk on the other side."

Fitz shot her an amused frown. "Don't be soft. And you know that won't make a difference, Doctor Simmons."

As they reached the top, Fitz looked left, then right, decided on left, and reached for the door nearest to him. "Right, then." He twisted the knob and pushed, letting the light from the hallway flood inside. "Ah - found the bathroom." He moved onto the next room, but Jemma stopped him with a brush of her fingers against his hand before he could enter it.

"The one at the end." She had no idea why, but she was drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Whether or not she'd feel safer in there, she couldn't say, but the closer she got, the more important it was that she got there. However, once over the threshold, the melancholy that she'd earlier felt pressed down on her again so suddenly and fiercely that her knees buckled, tears stinging her eyes as she was winded, like someone had shoved a hand inside her and ripped out her lungs, and she was only vaguely aware of Fitz throwing an arm around her and hauling her back upright, because it was like she was somewhere else entirely, and it took several moments of sheer determination before she was able to focus on the worried face in front of her, on the wide eyes that bore right into hers.

"Jemma?!"

Breathless, she sucked in a harsh, lungful of air, and clung to him in an attempt to steady herself. "Sorry, I..." She shook her head. "I don't know what happened."

She didn't realise she was crying until Fitz awkwardly brushed the tears from her cheek, and then she felt mortally embarrassed, because she was sure she was going insane, and she probably looked it, too. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologisin'?"

"I just need to sleep," she sniffed, talking over him. "Fitz?" She hesitated as he stared at her, his expression tense. "I - I know this is - You know? But, thank you."

He rewarded her with a wide, closed-mouth smile, the worry temporarily melting from his face, although his eyes told a different story. "You're welcome. And, while we're bein' honest, yeah, it _is_, but you're still my best friend, and that's what best friends are for, right?"

Jemma sniffed again, the emotion of the devastation she'd just felt still coursing through her. "Right," she agreed, her voice thick and sticking in her throat. She'd address just why that had disappointed her at a later date.

Fitz helped her over to the bed, setting her down carefully and placing her bag beside her. He rubbed behind his neck, a gesture Jemma was well aware meant he was feeling uneasy. "D'you, um, do you need any help with..." he waved a hand towards her, and of course she knew what he meant, and he would, if she said yes, because he wouldn't let her struggle alone. But she wasn't actually sick, so she could manage just fine.

"Could you just wait outside?"

He relaxed instantly. "Sure."

xxxx

_It was the same house, except it was different. And she was was stood right there, in the doorway, but not really, which she couldn't get her head around. It was like looking into a snow-globe without the snow, or standing outside on a cold night and looking in through a misted window at the scene inside. Jemma had no idea how she could be outside of something when she was clearly inside, but she let it slide, because this was obviously a dream, otherwise she wouldn't be standing there in her pyjamas, watching a little girl she didn't know sleep peacefully in her bed. **Her** bed. That's what it had been, before she had started dreaming, but now it belonged to the little girl with golden hair, which she could just see from where the moonlight was spilling in through a gap in the curtains, a curl falling across her forehead. The girl, if she had to hazard a guess, looked to be about four or five, and was clutching an old teddy bear, one with a missing eye and a torn ear - clearly, he'd been loved. Jemma smiled fondly as she remembered her own beloved bear from when she was small, how it had ended up the same way, but she'd refused to let her mother fix it, fearing he wouldn't be the same bear with one new eye and one old, and insisted she loved him just the way he was, that it just made him all the more special. She wondered if it was the same for this little girl._

_Then the scene suddenly shifted, and a man appeared, in the blink of an eye, sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over the sleeping child, and a surge of discomfort fired up from Jemma's abdomen and spread__ throughout her entire body. Something was wrong - her throat constricted, and she didn't trust the man whose back was to her one jot - and then, horrifyingly, she found out why. The man leant back to reveal shaking arms, breathing harsh and heavy, as if he'd just been running, and in his hands he clutched a pillow, and when he moved, stumbled to standing and looked back down at the bed, Jemma could see the little girl, looking exactly the same as she had before, yet completely different, completely-_

_Jemma's hands flew to her mouth. She couldn't breathe, painful gasps rattling from her body as she shook violently from the shock. She tried to run forward, tried to cry out, but she was stuck, unable to do anything at all apart from watch as the man went and opened the window in the corner of the room, the curtains billowing in the wind, performing a twisted dance as snow swept inside. Returning to the bed, he picked the lifeless child up in his arms, and carried her to the open window..._

Jemma bolted upright, choking as she grasped at her face, trying to remove something that wasn't there, her hands grabbing at thin air. It took her several moments to realise where she was, and when she did she burst into tears, unable to convince herself that what she'd just experienced was 'just a nightmare', the horrific scene she'd witnessed too vivid as it replayed itself over and over again, like a piece of film on loop. It disturbed her to think that she could dream something like that, and if she was certain that that was what it was, she'd have no problem chalking it up to being a reaction to everything that had happened recently, to the loss, to the changing of their fates, of the world... But somehow, she just _knew_ that it wasn't as simple as that, and that worried her, because it went against everything she believed as a scientist.

She needed to calm herself, she needed -

She froze.

Across the room, something moved - _creaked_. Jemma swallowed heavily, tears now falling silently from wide, unblinking eyes, her chest heaving with fast, shallow breaths as she slowly turned her head towards the sound as it continued, a back-and-forth squeaking, as if something was rocking against the wooden floor.

A break in the storm had allowed the moon to shine through the clouds, and the room had a soft, silver-blue glow that would have given the space a soothing, ethereal quality, if it hadn't been for the creeping terror that was washing over it and Jemma like a dark, merciless wave. She was certain she'd shut the curtains, but the light that seeped in fell over an object right in her line of vision, and as her blurry eyes adjusted, she could see that it was moving backwards and forwards, slow and steady, and a fist gripped the inside of her stomach, causing a quiet whimper to fall from her lips. At the same time, she felt compelled to move towards it, to reach out and yank away the dust-sheet that was shrouding it, as if doing so would provide her with the perfectly reasonable explanation she so desperately sought.

Jemma shifted in the bed, pushing the heavy duvet away from her legs and letting them slide over edge, her bare feet silently hitting the floor, and she shivered, partly out of fright, and partly because, for the first time, she noticed how cold the room was, and in the dimness she swore she could see her breath misting around her. It hit her like she'd just walked into a freezer, the air sharp and biting. The room had been warm when she'd first crawled into bed, and now it was positively Arctic. Still, none of that mattered right now. _You can do this_, she told herself as she stood on jelly legs, running every possible solution through her head as she crossed the room, hand outstretched to quickly whip the sheet away. The movement continued as she edged closer, and, her heart hammering against her ribcage, she grabbed and pulled, wincing as she did so, her body tense, as if she expected whatever was there to reach out and seize her. The creaking stopped, and Jemma let the sheet pool to the floor as she stared at the old, wooden rocking horse that was now sitting before her. She could just make out the peeling paint, the glassy eyes, and the dullness of its once magnificent mane. But she couldn't, for love nor money, work out how it had been moving on its own.

Maybe, _maybe_, if her disturbing vision had indeed been a dream, then maybe she was dreaming still. That was entirely possible, and certainly more plausible than ghosts. It would also explain why she hadn't deemed it necessary to switch the light on - only people in horror films did silly things like that. Jemma took a deep breath to calm herself, wiped her eyes, and nodded. She would get back into bed, and then, when she opened her eyes for real, it would be morning, and she would be safe and sound, and warm.

Just then, a particularly strong gust of wind caused the windows to rattle, and she jumped before nervously laughing to herself. Ridiculous, really, this whole thing. If-

She screamed.

It was only a flicker in her peripheral vision, a vague, fuzzy outline, that, really, could have been anything, but it wasn't. It wasn't sleep deprivation, or a trick of the murky light, and Jemma didn't know how she knew that, but she did, and she stumbled as she turned and ran to the door, and then again when she yanked the handle, expecting it to open, only to find it locked. She rattled it desperately, but it wouldn't budge, and in frustration and fear she thumped her other hand against it.

"No, no, no, let me OUT!"

_"Simmons!"_

Coulson! Jemma would have laughed in relief if she hadn't been so scared, if panic hadn't been coursing through every vein in her body and holding hostage her ability to think and focus and defend herself. And really, how could she defend herself from something she couldn't see but was very much still present in the room?

"I can't get out! I -" she sobbed, still pulling uselessly at the handle. "Help me!"

_"Stand away from the door!"_

She jumped back, vaguely aware of other voices floating in from the hall, but she couldn't process them - there wasn't time, because suddenly the door was flying open, and Coulson burst in, the rest of the team right behind him.

"What is it, what happened?" Coulson had his gun out, alert despite the rude awakening, and as she met his gaze, she realised that she couldn't speak. How could she? How could she tell them about what had just happened to her without them thinking she'd gone completely crazy, that she'd caused a huge commotion all over a nightmare and a hallucination that could be put down to stress and a lack of sleep?

"Jemma?"

Fitz. She turned her head to him, her lips pressed together in an effort to quieten herself, but the look on his face, his shock at seeing her in this state, had her throwing her arms around his neck.

_Safe_.

"Jesus, you're freezing!"

"And it's boiling in here," Skye added, blowing her bangs away from her face as she finished her quick intake of the room. "Simmons, what is it? What happened?"

Jemma shook her head, her fingers unconsciously grasping at Fitz's t-shirt. "Cold," was all she said, on little more than a whisper, her body trembling from the icy air and adrenaline. She had no idea what Skye was talking about - maybe her body also now controlled temperature in a different way?

"Did you see something outside? Is there someone here?" May's voice was soft but urgent, but still Jemma couldn't say anything, so she simply shook her head again, missing the look of troubled concern they all gave each other.

"Right, let's get you warmed up. You definitely must be sick if you're cold in here - Skye's right, it's really hot. The radiator must be playin' up."

Before Jemma could protest, she felt herself being led over to the bed. No - there was no way she was staying in here.

"May, can you put the kettle on? And can someone find some more blankets?"

"Fitz-"

"-It's all right, we'll have you fixed up in no time-"

She planted her feet, forcing him to stop in his efforts to get her back under the covers. "I _can't_."

xxxx

Fitz rubbed his eyes as he entered the kitchen, disturbed enough by what he'd just heard that he flinched with a sharp intake of breath when he saw Coulson sitting at the old, farmhouse table, nursing a mug between his hands.

Coulson just stared up at him tiredly, unperturbed by his response to seeing him there.

"You couldn't sleep, either?" Fitz asked, as he flopped down exhaustedly into a chair, minor fright forgotten.

The director offered him a thin smile. "Nope. How's Simmons?"

_How's Simmons..._ Fitz didn't even know where to begin - what he'd eventually managed to coax out of her, after many tears and protestations, weighed heavily on his mind, and his head hurt as he thought about what she'd told him. "... She's sleepin'." He glanced down at the table, fingers drawing invisible circles across the surface.

"Good." Coulson took a breath. "The kettle's only just boiled if you-"

"No, thank you."

Coulson fixed him with a pointed look. "You sure? Because it looks like you might need something to settle your nerves while you tell me what's going on."

Fitz blinked up at him, his mouth falling slightly open as he did so, but he had no idea why that had surprised him so much, because he was sitting opposite his boss, and what did he expect? He sighed, and shook his head. "I don't even know where to start."

"Try from the beginning."

So he did. Fitz told him everything, no matter how mad it sounded, for Jemma's sake, because keeping it to himself would come to no good, and when he was done, he sat back and frowned down at his hands, his legs jiggling under the table due to his inability to curb his restlessness.

"What if it's my fault? - You don't have to look at me like that - I know you know why I left the lab. Everyone knows. The base isn't the best place to try and keep a secret - you let it slip to a couple of people over a beer, and then it goes viral. But what if me leavin' was what did it? I thought we were gettin' on better this way, but what if it's tipped her over the edge?" Oh, god, had it? Had he been the final straw? For all his well-meaning, had he pushed her too far?

"Fitz, it's not your fault-"

"-It - it wasn't payback. It wasn't because she left..." Even as he said it, he felt stupid. Stop rambling - of course Coulson wouldn't think that.

"Fitz, easy. Calm down. I know that. I know things haven't been easy between the two of you, and yes, you're right, I do know why. I also know that leaving the lab was something you wouldn't have decided lightly, that you genuinely thought it was for the best, not just for you, but for her, too. But, whatever's going on now, you're not to blame. Let's not get ahead of ourselves - a few days of complete rest, and I'm sure she'll be fine. We'll all keep an eye on her." Coulson took a sip from his mug, then leant back in his chair. "This the first time you've seen her hit the wall?"

"No. Although it was only once before, during our finals at the Academy. It was horrible - she picked a fight with me, and not even over anythin' significant, but she'd let so much build up that it became something huge, and then she just broke. Once she'd got it all out of her system, she was fine. But it wasn't like this. This is..." He sighed, and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "... unsettlin'. But, you're right, and, I dunno, maybe May could help her relax, do some of that meditation stuff with her."

Coulson smirked. "Don't ever let May hear you call it "that meditation stuff.""

Fitz nodded. A very sensible piece of advice. "Noted." He pushed his chair back, wincing a little as it scraped against the stone of the kitchen floor. "Well, I'm goin' to try and get back to sleep. You should, too."

"Yeah, I will. Night, Fitz."

Fitz doubted very much that Coulson was going to move from this table any time soon, but he knew it was in his best interests not to question him. "Night, sir."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm going to try my very best to get another chapter out by the end of the week, but I'm moving on Friday, so I might not have time. Also, as much as I would have liked to have this finished in time for Christmas, problems with our stupid ISP means that I might not have broadband again until the 31st, but I'll see how good the 3G signal is around there - hopefully it should work! (I'm pissed that there's no 4G there - it's not like I'm moving to the middle of nowhere.) But hey, I'm sure no one minds reading Chrismas fic after Christmas, right? :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yay! Finally, a new chapter! I'm sorry it's taken so long - what with moving house, and internet problems, and being busier than I can ever remember being, I haven't had much time, but things are starting to calm down, now, so phew!**

**Thanks for being so patient.**

* * *

><p>Jemma didn't want to open her eyes. They felt dry and sore, and her head ached as if she'd been drinking. It took her a few seconds to remember why it was, exactly, that she felt this way, and then it all came rushing back to her so fast that her eyes popped wide open, and she took a sharp, inhale of air. But she was fine - it was daylight (well, as light as it could be when the sky was full of purple-grey snow clouds), and she was warm (finally), curled on her side with a hand trapped comfortably under her pillow, tucked safely under the covers of a bed that, to her immense relief, wasn't the one she'd started out in.<p>

Wait.

Turning over slowly, so as not to aggravate her already throbbing head, Jemma's face pinched with guilt when she saw Fitz squashed into a chair by the window, his head cradled in the righthand corner of the wing-back, legs dangling over the arm on the opposite side. He didn't look cold, which was lucky given that his blanket had slipped, but he didn't look particularly comfortable, either. She wanted to wake him, to tell him he could have his bed back, but she knew, after what had happened, that he wouldn't go back to sleep and would end up fussing over her, so she decided to leave him where he was, and she'd bring him a glass of water and some painkillers, so he'd be able to immediately take something for his inevitably aching limbs.

Jemma smiled to herself as she let her eyes roam over his face. He did look peaceful, despite his awkward position, and then she smiled even wider when she realised that he was wearing his favourite pyjama trousers, the ones he'd had for years that had become super-soft with age, the once rich navy and burgundy plaid now faded. He'd managed to get himself caught on a door, once, the left pocket catching on _the_ handle and tearing as he'd tried to continue on, not realising until it was too late and he'd bounced back into said door, and he'd whinged about it until she'd sewn it up for him - she could just see where the stitching was coming loose, and made a mental note to fix them back up again once they were back home.

As quietly and as carefully as she could, Jemma slipped out of the bed, grabbing her robe from the end of it and tying it around her. She needed to wash her face, then she'd find something to eat, take some ibuprofen, and, hopefully, she'd soon feel a lot better. Still, the worry of having to face the others niggled in her belly - it had been bad enough falling apart in front of Fitz, seeing his face confused and troubled as she'd tried to convince him that what she'd seen had been real. She was thoroughly humiliated by the complete havoc she'd caused. That was not the Jemma Simmons they were used to - that was not the Jemma Simmons _she_ was used to.

Apart from the stuffy head and raw eyes, that feeling that she'd had, of utter despair and grief, had left her. The dream still lingered, and it still upset her, but she was no longer being dragged down by an invisible force, and she no longer felt as though the house carried some dark, terrible secret. It had simply been a dream - an awful one, but a dream all the same. Jemma glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ten thirty-seven. A long sleep had clearly been what she'd needed, despite not feeling very refreshed from it. She'd never felt so silly in all her life. Sleep deprivation had completely got the best of her.

Padding over to the door, she carefully opened it, pulling a face and tensing as the handle squeaked a little, and then relaxing when Fitz didn't even stir. She stepped into the hall and closed it softly behind her, but then, as she was turning away, her eye caught the open door of the room she'd fled from hours before, and everything she'd just dismissed came crashing back over her, and she doubled over, her arms wrapped across her stomach as she gasped for breath.

"No..."

It called her forward, that same unseen force from before beckoning her, but, with an enormous amount of effort, she managed to pull herself away and run to the bathroom, devastated all over again, and terrified for her sanity.

xxxx

"What's goin' on?" The commotion that met Fitz when he entered the living room was unexpected and disorientating - waking up all skewiff, with a stiff neck and un-refreshing sleep, had done him no favours, but he wouldn't have left Jemma's side last night for love nor money. He had, however (and rather naively, it seemed, given the scene in front of him), hoped that she'd be much better this morning after a rest, but it appeared that quite the opposite had happened. Jemma was agitated, her face pale and eyes watery and red, arms expressive and voice pleading as she tried to convince the others of something he was not yet aware of, but was very much about to be.

"Fitz!" Jemma almost flew over to him, her face lighting up with hope as she gripped hold of his shoulders and stared up at him.

Fitz rather awkwardly placed his own hands on her forearms, not sure of what else he should do with them. He felt his stomach shrivel and tighten like a grape left out in the sun as her eyes bore into his.

"Listen, I know everyone thinks I've gone crazy, but we need to search the cellar. There's something down there, I know it."

How, in less than twenty-four hours, had the woman he'd known for ten years changed so drastically? He'd seen her at her best, and at her worst, and this behaviour was so foreign to him that he'd swear someone else entirely was standing in front of him. But it wasn't - it was his Jemma, and she was scaring the hell out of him. "Jemma, slow down - what's happened?" He glanced around her for a second, taking in the worried faces of Coulson, May, and Skye, before focussing back on her.

"I thought everything was fine, but then the room... It just pulled down on me again, and then there was this voice in the bathroom - it was her! It was like a whisper: _"The cellar..."_ I know, I _know_ I sound insane, and I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for, but please, help me."

The sigh that reached Fitz's ears was both exasperated and perturbed, and he looked up to see conflict tugging at Coulson's features. The man didn't rattle easily, and his unfamiliar expression didn't sit well with Fitz, but he also knew that the director cared deeply about the welfare of his team, and Jemma's uncharacteristic behaviour was deeply troubling.

"Jemma," the older man began, gently but firmly, using her first name, a sign of how serious this was, "I already told you - a complete inventory of everything left down there was taken when S.H.I.E.L.D. acquired the house, and there was nothing but some old furniture and a couple of landscape paintings."

Jemma turned to him, and Fitz could sense that the disagreement he'd walked into was about to continue. But before she could speak, May cut across her, in much the same tone as Coulson.

"We're not giving you the key. Simmons, you need to rest. You're not well. Let Fitz take you back upstairs, and get some more sleep. That's an order."

But that didn't stop Jemma from protesting, as her face fell and her eyes swam with tears. She shook her head. "You _know_ me. Why would I make this up? I'm a scientist - would I really ask for this if I thought there was no purpose to it?"

Skye, who looked on the verge of tears herself, stepped forward and took hold of her friend's hand. "No one is saying you've made anything up. But think about it - this past year has been tough, and scary, and sad, and so much has changed - hell, I can make the ground shake, who knew? There's only so much a person can take before they reach their limit, and-"

"- So I'm _weaker_ than the rest of you?"

Fitz jumped to Skye's defence, rattled by the tone of Jemma's voice, offence clearly taken when none was meant. "Jemma, that's not what she-"

She swung back to him, her cheeks reddening, tear-trails sparkling as they caught the artificial light beaming from the wall-lamps, doing their best to fight off the gloom of the tempestuous storm still blowing outside.

"You, too?" Her voice cracked, and she glanced away from him. "Even my best friend doesn't believe me..."

The fight went out of her so quickly that it very nearly brought back his earlier disorientation. She looked at him so sadly, so _devastated_, that his heart almost stopped, and he wanted to cry, too. He reached out to her, the desperation in her eyes making him want nothing more than to hold her and assure her that everything, that _she_, would be fine, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her, but she recoiled, a sob forcing its way up her throat as she suddenly turned and hurried out of the room, and the metaphorical punch to his stomach grounded him for much longer than he cared for before he was able to go after her.

xxxx

Jemma had been staring gloomily out of the window of one of the unoccupied bedrooms at the back of the house, trying to think of a sure way to convince her friends and colleagues of what she'd experienced, when it happened. After the events of that morning, she'd spent the rest of the day hidden away upstairs, refusing to speak to anyone, the sandwich Fitz had placed outside her door earlier that afternoon uneaten, the bread now dry and the salad limp. It was getting dark, now, eerie shadows falling across the room as the light faded, and she was about to move to switch the light on when a puff of cold air against her ear had her frozen in place, hairs standing on end and a creeping dread seeping through her veins. A breath, harsh and with a stench of death that she could feel rather than smell, whispered to her:

_"Get. Out."_

Jemma fled across the room with a cry, her heart pounding as her hand smacked against the light switch. However, unlike the night before, she didn't attempt to escape the room. Rather, she stood steadfast on shaky legs, still as terrified as she'd been before, but now defiant, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on, and to help the little girl escape the monster who had so cruelly ripped her young life away from her, even if she had to do it on her own.

"I know what you did," she spoke bravely to the empty air, her hands fisted against her side, tears filling her eyes but not spilling over.

But there was no reply, despite the fact that she was certain that she could still feel him near. Jemma could still remember the look on his face from when she'd run from him the night before, the snarl that twisted his mouth and the threatening pierce of his eyes.

The longer Jemma stood there, the more she lost her nerve as her skin continued to prickle, enveloped in an iciness that was beginning to burn. "Why only me? Why not the others?"

_"Jemma?"_

Jemma jumped, spinning round and staring at the door as if it was about to come to life. But, of course, it was just Fitz. Hand on her heart, the beat of it thumping against her hand like the pounding of a jackhammer, she breathed deeply as she tried to calm herself down. She couldn't ignore him any longer, and she didn't even really want to, she just hadn't been able to bear the look of pity on his face - it was bad enough seeing it from the others, but from him... She hung her head. A little too late, she realised that, in the early days after he woke from his coma, she'd done exactly the same to him as she'd grappled to come to terms with his condition.

She stepped forward and reached for the handle, pulling the door open and moving into the hall before he could enter the room, no longer able to stay there.

xxxx

Fitz couldn't sleep. He tossed and he turned, but Jemma's behaviour was weighing heavily on his mind, and, despite his beliefs, was beginning to wonder what would happen if he made the decision to believe her - and he wanted to, more than anything. Would it help? Or would it just make her worse? What if she actually _was_ telling the truth? Fitz sat up and leant back against the headboard, the edge of the covers gripped in his hands as he pulled them up under his chin in a subconsciously comforting habit. When he first started out with S.H.I.E.L.D., this world in which they now lived, privy to aliens and gods and superheroes, didn't exist. But now they did, and whilst there had always been the possibility of other life somewhere out in the infinite space of the universe, ghosts, spirits of the dead, was just too much of a stretch for him - or it had been. Because Jemma had thought exactly the same, and now she believed it, so he could at least try, couldn't he? And not just that, but something inside of him was pleading with him to give her the benefit of the doubt, that it wouldn't make her worse, that it would be okay - but if it _did_, and they had to get her help, and if she thought he'd betrayed her...

Fitz signed and slipped out of bed, hands moving up to scratch through his hair as he wandered over to the window. Pulling the curtains open, he stared out into the black night, snow hitting the window and sliding down the glass in icy trails. He didn't mind snow, but this wasn't the sort of weather you went out in to build a snowman, not with the wind howling and the drifts building up.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, a flash of movement caught in his peripheral vision. Squinting, and thinking it had just been a figment of his imagination, his heart jumped into his throat and a vice-like grip seized his stomach when he saw, standing in the deep snow in just her pyjamas, Jemma, as still as a statue in front of a small tree, her hair flying about her, and he was reminded of Medusa, or he would have been, if he wasn't busy stumbling into his shoes and tearing out of the room, almost slipping down the stairs in his hurry to get to her. Once outside, a fierce gust almost knocked him off his feet, but somehow Jemma remained perfectly still, and when he finally reached her, her face, pale as the snow around them, lips almost blue, snowflakes clinging to lashes that shielded unblinking eyes, he was momentarily stopped from taking hold of her and whisking her back inside when he heard her softly singing, her lips hardly moving as she recited a rhyme that he hadn't heard since he was a child, her voice eerily dreamy and sending chills down his spine that weren't caused by the weather.

"_Here we go round the mulberry bush,_

_The mulberry bush,_

_The mulberry bush,_

_Here we go round the mulberry bush,_

_On a cold and frosty morning_..."


End file.
